"Emma is at home," said Margaret, "and as I really want to go, I shall not mind you. Pen, you can go and sit with her."
"Very well, it's all the same to me," replied a stranger, who she inferred was her unknown sister, "I am sure I don't want to keep you at home." And as she spoke she turned again to the door, "I say driver, you just get that trunk lifted in, there's a good fellow, and see you don't turn it bottom upwards, my man, or I vow I won't give you a sixpence—do you hear?"
The driver grinned and proceeded to pull down the trunk, whilst Penelope Watson stood at his elbow, and flourished an umbrella in her hand, very much as if she meant to enforce her threats with blows.
When satisfied, however, with the care which he took of her property, she had paid and dismissed him, she turned to her sisters, exclaiming:
"There, now you may bundle off too, as fast as you please, my bonnet and gown and all are in that trunk, and you shall not see them till I put them on, lest you should try and copy them."
"No, it isn't, what becomes me would never suit you, so I only prevent you making a fright of yourself. Where's Emma? I want to see her."
"Here I am," said she timidly advancing, for Penelope's loud voice quite overpowered her courage.
"Here I am," mimicked Penelope, advancing towards her, "and how does your little ladyship do, pray? Why are you so long coming to welcome your new sister? I am sure you ought to have learnt more affection from Margaret."
Emma did not know what to answer to this attack, but looked at Elizabeth rather distressed.
"Never mind, Penelope," replied Miss Watson to her look, "she always says what she pleases; well, Margaret is waiting in the chaise, so I must go; Emma, will you take Pen to my father?"
And Elizabeth hastened away as she spoke.
Penelope turned to her remaining sister, and surveyed her from head to foot—
"Well," said she, "I suppose I had better go and report myself first, and then I can settle about my things; upon my word, Emma, you are very pretty, I am so glad you have dark hair and eyes; Margaret makes me quite sick of fair skins, by her nonsense about her own. Here I am, sir," cried she, advancing into her father's room as she spoke, "come to waken you all up; I am sure the old house looks as if it had gone to sleep since I went away, and there is the same fly on the window, I protest, as when I was last in the room. How do you do, my dear sir?"